The Runaway
by lotzalove
Summary: "Greg was having one of those days where he dreamed about leaving. The only difference was that this day, he did." A young Greg runs away from a small town in Norway to New York. He ends up stumbling into something he shouldn't have, and possibly breaking some hearts. Basically a prequel to CSI, how Greg ended up in Vegas. A few OC's,a little different, just trust me please?
1. Crazy Days

Greg was having one of those crazy days. One of those days when he wished he had a clock that ticked. Because at least listening to it would be something to do. Yes, he could picture himself sitting and counting the seconds go by, drumming his fingers in time to the slow steady pulses of the clock. He was having one of those days when he found himself messing up his room, just so he could clean it again. One of those days when he was reading the back of shampoo bottles, nutrional information on his food packets, the fine print on old reciepts from the gabage. One of those days where he tried to arm wrestle himself. One of those days when he watched repeats of forensic shows, then reconstructed his own crme scenes and solved them. One of those days where he imagined how great it would be if something happened, something different, something to reak the steady routine that everybody seemed so desperate to stick to. One of those days where he looked out the old travel magazines he kept under his matress andwould flick to a random page. Whatever page it opened on, he would close his eyes and pretend to be there, what places he would visit, where he would stay, all the things he would discover. If he didn't know enough about the place he'd look it up in the atlas. This was probably also the reason that Greg was an A student in geography. Despite never having been more than an hour awya from his small town. But now he was having one of those days when he wanted to see it all, travel the world. One of those days where he dreamed about just leaving, just getting up and going. Yes, Greg was having one of those days. He'd been having them all the more frequently recently.

The only difference was that this day, he did.

He took a rucksack . He went down to where his mother was stirring a pot of something and told her that he was leaving. Just that. "Mamma, jeg drar." She didn't even turn around. If she had, she would have seen that the rucksack on his shoulders, the rucksack he had taken out of his too preoccupied with her cooking to realise what he had said, or else she truly didn't care about where he was going. And then he left. She would read all about it when she saw the note he had left for her on his bed. The note she would find when she went up to fetch him for dinner. Just a note telling her that he was leaving, he wasn't sure where too yet, but he was leaving. A note saying that he loved her and knew she loved him too and that he would write as soon as he could. A note that said not to worry. And goodbye.

An hour later, his mother would find that note on his bed. She would read it five times, then sit down on his bed. She would think about her Gregory, and her eyes would be drawn to the wall where she used to measure him. She would look at the pencilled lines with his age and height written next to them. He remembered what it was like to look out the window when he was six years old, 3ft 111⁄4in. When he was ten, 4ft 71⁄8in. When he was twelve, the numbers stopped. He decided he was too old to be measured. He had outgrown the pencilled lines and numbers on his wall. And now, he had outgrown her. She would sigh, and a single tear would roll down her cheek. But she wouldn't go after him because she knew that she had held him back long enough. And that now she had to let him go. She would get up, taking the note with her. And as she did, she would turn off the music he had left playing. On repeat, in his tape player for hours. Del Amitri's "Nothing Ever Happens."

Greg was lucky. Because although he lived in a small town where nothing ever happened, although he had braces and a wire on his teeth, although he wasn't allowed to play sports at school and everyone luaghed at him. He was lucky because he had money. Over five million dollars in inheritance, left to him by some great great ancestor who's name he could never remember. It was why his family lived in the biggest house on the street. Why nobody by the name of Sanderson had to work. Why he stopped off in the bank before leaving. He took out five hundred pounds, and got a cheque book and a credit card from the bank. Then he ran to the airport to catch a flight.

Where to, he didn't know yet.


	2. Liquid Thoughts

**I know I haven't written in ages, but I've had a lot of writers block. Thank you so much to Lil Badger 101 for your review, and to the people who followed this story. Hope this is okay for you. PM me saying what you want to see, or give me any ideas.**

Liquid thoughts. Running through his head, flowing through his brain. They went to fast to catch them, too quick to stop and examine them and try to figure out what they meant. Figure out what he was thinking. Because Greg wasn't sure. He tried to pin them down, these liquid thoughts, tried to catch the fleeting emotions that pumped through him faster than his blood. Adrenaline. Worry. Excitement Fear. Relief. Pain. Anticipation. Confusion. Uncertainty. Joy. He was finally away, he could do what he wanted. But the world was big. And he wasn't. He was able to be the most exciting person back in his small Norwegian town, but here? There? Wherever he was going to go? Not so much. He doubted he was even the most exciting person in this airport, in Oslo, less than an hour from his hometown. A lady that looked suspiciously male. A man in a flawless suit, dark sunglasses and a briefcase with a padlock. A group of emo's. A teen boy with his hood up running as fast as he could, with three security guards in his pursuit. An elderly woman trying to tell fortunes with a packet of snap cards. And then Greg. Gregory Hojem Sanderson.

What was it that made him special anyway? Back home it was pretty obvious. He was the only person in a thirty mile radius with only one parent. Aside from all the traditional households, The Sanderson family consisted of Greg and his mother. He never had a father. All he knew was his last name. Hojem. His mother was secretly scorned for being a single mother who became pregnant out of wedlock, and many of the old generation Norwegians had called him a devil child. He was the one who all the fathers locked up their daughters from. He was the one who had his first girlfriend at age nine. Anna. She was blonde, and her father didn't like him. This was also the profile for all the other Norweigan girls he'd dated. All in all, he'd gone out with twenty girls in his small town, and was known as a bit of a heart breaker But he wasn't really. He was still friends with all the girls. Just the other month, Karen and Marie had helped him dye his hair with lemon juice, bleach and yellow paint. It was still a bit wacky, with random blonde bits sticking out of his normal sandy haired birds nest. He was the kid who startled every family in the town the time he walked home wearing only his boxer shorts after he'd given his trousers to a homeless man. He was the one the parents disapproved of, the children idolized the girls loved and the boys were jealous of. Greg didn't play sport, like cars or smoke cigarettes, so he was never really friends with any of the guys.

What was next for him? What place was calling Greg Sanderson? He realized he needed something new. Something different, to make him ready for this adventure he was about to take. A new name. Greg...Sanderson...Greg Sandy... Greg Sander? Greg Sanders. That was it. He took out the new credit card he'd just got, and scratched off the o and the n at the end. That was probably illegal. Oh well. Keeping in mind his new name and new state of mind, Greg looked up again at the list of destinations.

London.

Berlin.

Madrid.

Rome.

Paris.

Maybe it was time to leave Europe altogether? Have a completely fresh start?

Nigeria.

Madagascar.

Zambia.

Sydney.

Melbourne.

New Zealand.

Hong Kong.

Calcutta.

Beijing.

Rio de Janeiro

Buenos Aires

Santiago

Toronto

Chicago

New York

New York. That was it. He could feel it. Why hadn't he thought of it before? New York was the land of opportunity, the field of dreams. It was where he belonged. And the next flight was in less than an hour? Fate? Or just good timing?

He looked down to find his bag. Lying next to it was a one dollar bill. Greg had never seen a dollar before. After looking around to check it didn't belong to anyone, Greg put it in his pocket. He'd need it where he was going. Fate? Or just a coincidence?

"One ticket to New York please." he said breathlessly to the lady at the desk.

"I'm sorry." She said. "We've just sold our last ticket on that flight."

You have no tickets to New York.

"Excuse me sir? You said you needed a ticket to New York?" Greg turned around. It was the guy with a padlocked briefcase and shades.

"Em.. yes?" Greg asked.

"I've had a... new development in my job... and I've had to change my destination. You can have my ticket."

"For real?" Greg asked.

"Just so long as you make sure and not tell anybody what you know about me. I have a very important job for a very important man." the man whispered, handing over the ticket.

"Couldn't if I wanted to." Greg said.

And then he was gone, leaving the ticket in Greg's hand. Fate? Or just good luck?

As he boarded the plane, Greg stopped suddenly, wondering if this was a good idea. He had made a decision in ten minutes that would change his life forever. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the terminal. He was suddenly met by a huge gust of wind, as was apparantely fairly commonplace in an airport. Leaves, trash and pieces of paper all blew into his face. He stopped to grab an old, faded leaflet that was rushed towards his eyes at an alarming speed. It was an ad for a sightseeing tour of New York. Fate? Or just a fluke?

He put on foot forward. The he did the same with the other one. He took a step forward. Then another. Then another. He kept taking steps until eventually he reached the steps on to the plane. Halfway up, he stopped. Was this really a good idea? But then the man behind him nudged him forward and there was no more time to think about it so he got on the plane and found his seat and sat in it and did up his seatbelt and watched the safety announcements and prepared for take off and then they were in the air and he finally remembered to breathe. He was out. He did it. In the end, he'd always known he would. The flight attendant came around with her trolley and he asked for a glass of water and he toasted himself. This was it. The start of the rest of his life. Was he ready? No way. Was he prepared? Not at all. Was he going to do it anyway?

Hell yeah.

**Review?**


	3. Counting Clouds

**Big thank you to Lil Badger 101 and mirdaishan for reviewing. I'm gonna try and update this as often as possible during mid-term break. Hope you like this. And to people who have followed or favoutrited, I would love to hear what you think in a review? Pleeeease?**

**Also, although Greg lives in Norway and his mother speaks Norweigan he speaks fluent English. Let's just imagine they live in an English speaking part of Norway, but his mother likes traditions so she speaks Norweigan still. **

**Also, this is set like, ages ago, but the songs are current. Ignore that, I wan't even born then.**

He was counting clouds. There was nothing else to look at, only skay and clouds outside the small airplane window. Greg had read the safety booklet and the in-flight menu twice already. He hadn't had time to think to bring a book, or anything else practical. Just himself and a rucksack.

The clouds were actually interesting, if you looked at them long enough. A hand. A bear. A flower. A car. A rugby ball. A music note. A dinosaur. Greg wasn't sure if it was his overactive imagination, sleep deprivation or the altitude that made him start seeing penguins with machine guns, a grandmothers head on the body of a fox, the periodic table of elements, a dutch windmill and Leonardo Da Vinci's vetruvian man.

The woman beside him was asleep. So was everybody else on the flight. But Greg was way too excited to sleep. He tapped his fingers on the tray table. He tapped them again. Getting into a rhythm now, Greg used his other hand too. He pulled two pencils from his rucksack and started drumming away, to the tune of Fun's song Carry On.

"Well I woke up to the sound of silence

The cars were cutting like knives in a fist fight"

Out of nowehere, he heard her voice. He looked across. A girl, about Greg's age with long blonde hair was singing the words, facing away from him. She was looking out the window, looking oast the sleeping business man next to her.

"And I found you with a bottle of wine

Your head in the curtains

And heart like the fourth of July" she continued.

"You swore and said

We are not

We are not shining stars

This I know

I never said we are

Though I've never been through hell like that

I've closed enough windows

To know you can never look back" Greg joined in.

Someone two seats back produced a guitar from his luggage compartment and joined in. A few people were waking up now, one or two put in their earphones or went back to sleep but many joined in, ar tapped their feet along to the music.

"If you're lost and alone

Or you're sinking like a stone

Carry on

May your past be the sound

Of your feet upon the ground

Carry on

Carry on, carry on"

As they finished, the girl finally turned aound and looked at him. The first thing he noticed were her eyes. They were green. And amazing. They eyed each other for a minute, and then she smiled. Greg smiled back.

"But I like to think..." Greg whispered.

"I can cheat it all..." she sung back.

"To make up for the times I've been cheated on..."

"And it's nice to think, when I was left for dead..."

"I was found and now I don't roam these streets..."

"I am not the ghost you want of me." she finished.

The woman next to Greg smiled.

"Do you two know each other?" she asked.

"No." Greg replied truthfully.

"Why don't you sit together?" she asked them.

"I'd like that." The girl smiled.

"Me too." Greg grinned back.

The lady got up and swapped seats with her, not even waking up the business man. Greg doubted that he would have any idea that they had switched when he woke up.

"Hey." he said to the girl. "I'm Greg."

"Brooke." She replied.

"You going to New York too?" he asked her.

"Yeah. It's the city of my dreams." she smiled.

"I just ran away and one hour later, I was here." Greg admitted.

"Wow. You're brave." Brooke said.

"I just had to get out of my town." Greg explained.

"Small?" Brooke asked.

"Yeah." Greg nodded.

"I come from a small town too. I've been saving up for this." Brooke told him.

" I just brought all my inheritence money." Greg laughed.

"I've been working all summer, and I got enough for the ticket, an apartment and to keep me going for a while." Brooke said.

"Do you have an apartment yet?" Greg asked her.

"Nope. Do you?" she replied.

"No. I don't know what I'm going to do when I get there." Greg admitted.

"Me neither. Do you have family in New York?" Brooke asked.

"No. You?" he returned.

"Nobody. You're the only person I know in the city." Brooke laughed.

"And I'm not even there yet. I don't know anybody else either." Greg replied.

"I like your hair." she told him.

"Thank you. I like your eyes." he replied.

"Thanks. Did you dye it yourself?" she asked.

"With some friends. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing." Greg laughed.

"You seem to have a lot of those." Brooke smiled.

"What do you mean?" Greg smiled back.

"Dyeing your hair, hopping on a plane to New York..." Brooke giggled.

"Yeah, I getcha. This one time, I jumped off the top of my house to impress a girl." Greg confessed,

"You did what?" Brooke gasped.

"My mother nearly threw a fit. I landed on my feet, right in front of the girl." Greg remembered.

"And was she impressed?" Brooke asked.

"Very." Greg told her.

They laughed. And they went on laughing for the next four hours. Laughing, talking, getting to know each other.

It was 2am when they finally began to descend. Suddenly, the clouds became the ocean, and they could see land in the distance. They flew over the Atlantic ocean, and the flight attendant announced that they would be landing in twenty minutes. Even early in the morning, the lights of New York city still shone just as brightly as they did in the movies, and Greg and Brooke stopped their conversation just to stare out the window.

"This is it." Brooke whispered.

"This is the beginning." Greg replied.

The flight landed, and they made their way through security together, never stopping their conversation. By the time they got to the airport doors, Greg felt he knew her better than he had ever known most of his girlfriends. Then they walked out the doors and suddenly realised that neither of them had any idea where they were going next.

"Let's share a cab." Greg suggested. "We can find a hotel to stay in."

They got in one of those famous yellow taxis, and asked the driver to take them to a nice hotel. He dropped them off outside The Waldorf. They both went in and booked seperate rooms, which ended up being right next to each other. They spent half the night out on their balconies, talking to each other.

Greg felt his first day in New York had been successful. He knew a total of one person.

**Reviews make me happy.**


	4. Belonging

**Alright, chapter four! I'd like to give a huge thank you to Lil Badger 101 for helping me out with my writers block. This chapter is dedicated to you! And thanks to anyobdy else who is reading this, let me know what you think with a review?**

Greg woke up at eight o clock the next morning, in a bed that was twice the size of his old one. In a city that was two hundred times the size of his old one. The first thing he did was step outside. There were people walking about everywhere, in suits, dresses, jeans, sweatpants. There were people of all ages, of all races. There were people reading their newspaper as they walked, talking on the phone, drinking coffee or eating bagels, walking dogs, jogging, listening to music on their ipods, carrying briefcases, trying to hail a taxi. It was busy. It was a land of opportunities. It was where he belonged.

Greg got changed into his only change of clothes. He needed to go shopping today. First though, breakfast. He went outside, and took a breath of the fresh New York air. It lasted all of three seconds until somebody walked past and blew cigarette smoke into his face. He coughed, and decided no to inhale so deeply the next time. But that's New York, he supposed.

He dodged in and out of people and almost bumped into a lady in a pencil skirt, blazer and stilettos. Journalist, he bet. Or else an editor. He saw a Starbucks just across the road. So he jogged in and waited in line for a bit. Finally he got up to the top and ordered two coffees and two raspberry muffins. On his way back to the hotel, he smiled at everybody he saw. Not one person smiled back. But that was New York. And Greg couldn't be happier.

"Knock knock." Greg yelled.

Brooke opened the door, still dressed in her pajama pants.

"You know, you're not supposed to say knock knock when you're coming into someones room. You're supposed to actually knock." she laughed, opening the door.

"Knocking is overrated. And besides, this is New York City! Anything goes." Greg laughed, coming into the room.

"What's the plan for today?" Brooke asked him, as she pulled the door shut.

"Well first" Greg began, producing a tray of coffees and two paper bags from behind his back "breakfast."

"You're the best." she smiled, taking a cup and a bag.

"I am." he nodded.

"Yum... this is good coffee." she said.

"Good. After breakfast, I need to do a bit of shopping and I was hoping you could help me?" Greg told her.

"What kind of shopping?" Brooke asked.

"Guess." Greg smiled.

"Shopping for... bicycles? unicorns? candyfloss? tropical fish? literature? air freshner? gorillas? potted plants? thongs?" Brooke guessed.

"Thongs, Brooke?" Greg tried not to grin.

"Its a possibility." she shrugged.

"You think I'm the thong type of guy?" he asked her.

"I think you're the try anything sort of guy." she winked back.

"I'm not the thong sort of guy." he told her.

"Ah." she nodded.

"They're way too uncomfortable and very evasive." he told her matter-of-factly.

"So you were a thong type of guy?" she laughed.

"I was drunk. Seemed like a good purchase at the time." he shrugged.

"So, I'm guessing we're not going shopping for thongs?" Brooke checked.

"No. Clothes. I only brought like, one change of clothes with me." Greg explained.

"That was smart." she smiled.

"I told you, all I brought with me was a rucksack." he laughed.

"Alright then, shopping for clothes it is. We are gonna make you super hot." she proclaimed.

"Am I not hot already?" he asked, in mock offence.

"Meh. I've seen better." she shrugged.

"Hey." he said, wounded. He hit her lightly on the shoulder. She hit him back.

"And after we go shopping, we go for lunch and then some sightseeing?" Greg suggested.

"Great idea. We can go to Statue of Liberty, Grand Central Station, Empire State Building, Central Park..." Brooke suggested.

"And we need to buy a postcard to send to my mother. And some for my friends." Greg told her.

"Yeah, I better get some for my friends and family too." Brooke nodded.

"So, I'm gonna go take a shower, see you outside in half an hour?" Greg suggested.

"Great. And thanks for breakfast." she smiled.

"Anytime." Greg winked.

As he washed his hair with one of those mini shampoos they give you in hotels, Greg had a feeling that this was going to be a very good day.

And it was. He came home with loads of clothes, postcards and photographs they had taken as they went sightseeing. They'd even gone apartment hunting. Greg had found a place he liked, right on the top floor of a big complex. Brooke fell in love with a studio apartment less than five minutes away. They had both put in offers for them and a few other places but were hoping they could end up living close together, because they didn't know anybody else in the city.

* * *

Later on that night, when the sun had gone down and the starts had begun to come out, they were standing on a bridge that overlooked the city, talking about their hopes for the future when suddenly, something caught Greg's eye. A flicker of blonde hair, so fast that it was hardly there. A girl, blonde hair, sunglasses, orange top, leopard print shorts and black ankle boots was moving through the crowd. Moving fast. And with every step she took she looked over her shoulder. Something about her seemed suspicious.

"We gotta follow that girl." Greg told Brooke.

"What girl?" she asked, looking around.

"The blonde one." Greg said, already running.

"Why?" Brooke asked, chasing after him.

"There's something up with her." he explained.

"How is that anything to do with us?" Brooke asked.

Greg stopped. "Back where I come from, there was never anything exciting happening. And now, I see a mystery, I gotta solve it. So come on."

"What makes you think she's suspicous?" Brooke asked him, as they began to jog again.

"She kept looking over her shoulder, as if somebody was watching her. And who wears sunglasses at night?" he said.

"I suppose so. Where did she go?"

They stopped and looked around. Then Brooke caught sight of her blonde hair and orange top and they started running again. Once they got close enough, they slowed down and pretending to be deep in conversation, making sure not to loose sight of her.

After a few minutes, Greg whispered to Brooke "something big is about to happen."

"What?" Brooke whispered back.

"We're the only ones on the street, she doesn't know you and me are here. Just wait."

"What's gonna happen?"

"I don't know, just that it's going to happen in about thirty seconds."

At that moment, Greg pulled himself and Brooke into a bush. Just then a tall man in a suit walked out into the path of the blonde. Before they had time to note this new development, she whipped out a gun from her shorts and shot him, right in the chest. He was dead before he hit the floor. The blonde crossed over to him, took an envelope out of his suit jacket, and slipped it into her waistband. She then took a tissue from her pocket and wiped the gun clean, before placing the tissue and the gun in the bin. Then, she pulled out her phone and sent a text, and within sixty seconds a car appeared from one of the alleys. She got in the passnger seat, shut the door, and they were gone in seconds.

"Did you see that?" Greg turned to Brooke.

"ADL 4681" Brooke replied.

"What?" Greg asked.

"That's the license plate of the car." Brooke explained.

"You're brilliant." he told her.

"We better report this to the cops." Brooke suggested.

"Yeah." Greg agreed. He dialed 911. "Hello? Can I have the NYPD? Yes, this is Greg Sanders and Brooke Tyler, we're on the corner of..."

"23rd Street." Brooke told him.

"23rd Street" Greg said into the phone. "and we have just witnessed a crime."

It was only Greg's first day in New York. And, to be honest, this was a little bit more excitement than Greg had hoped for.

**Haha, just thought I should mention that when I was trying to come up with a last name for Brooke I googled it to see what names go well, The names I kept getting were ones like Sandler, Sander and Sanderson, which I thought was pretty funny. Brooke Sanders might work well some day? If that's the way I decide to go... Anyway another huge massive thank you to Lil Badger 101, I hope you liked this chapter!**


	5. It Was Already Tomorrow

**Sorry it took me so long. Splitting this one up didn't really work so you have a super long chapter. I found it hard to explain my dialogue here. The conversation with the girl is all like flirty and playful, right from the start. So imagine it's all kinda of laughing and stuff. Because I just read it over and it sound sort of polite, not like I was imagining it in my head. I didn't want to break up the dialogue between Greg and Brooke be adding "he yelled" or "she cried" but you'll kind of get the picture. It's mainly emotional and loud from Brooke especially. Anyway, hope you like it and let me know if you're still enjoying! Thanks to Lil Badger 101 and Brooklyn for your reviews and mirdaishan for PMing me. Also, I made up the whole story Greg's Nana Olaf used to tell him, but it sounds kind of like a folk tale right? Lytte is actually Norweigan for listen (at least according to google translate) because the guy listens to peoples problems and it sounds like light, so I thought it was pretty fitting.**

* * *

In less than ten minutes, the police had arrived. But these weren't like the police in Norway, two men in ill-fitting blue shirts, ties that seemed to have permanent coffee stains and hats that were just a little too tight for their heads. This was a man in an expensive suit and shiny shoes, a man in a lab coat, carrying a medical kit, four officers in a tan uniform with badges, and three people in navy overalls with FORENSICS printed across the back.

The man in the suit, the detective was talking to Brooke now. She was playing with the ends of her brown hair, not looking into their eyes. Greg could sense how uneasy and upset she was, and he wanted to go hug her. But that probably wuldn't be right. He looked at her again, she was stumbling over her words, her cheeks pink. Greg could almost feel her heart beating from where he stood. He sighed. They were going to think she was suspicous. But she was just scared.

He looked at the others instead. The man in the lab coat was sticking something into the dead guy, while the people in overalls were taking photographs. The four officers patrolled the outside of the crime scene tape they had put up around the perimetre. One of the people in overalls caught his eye. A blonde, her hair was tyed back into a high ponytail. She was bending down and examining something on the road.

Greg sidled up to the crime scene tape.

"You can't come in." she told him, looking up.

"Just looking." he replied.

"You're the guy who saw the murder right?" she asked.

"Yeah, me and my friend." he nodded.

"That her?" she asked, pointing to where Brooke stood, nervously stammering at the detective.

"Yeah, that's Brooke." he gave a small smile.

"Have you talked to them yet?" she asked him.

"Not yet." he shook his head.

"Good luck." she told him.

"Thanks. So you live here?" he asked.

"Here?" she repeated, looking down at the crime scene.

"No. Here as in New York." he explained.

"Yeah, about three years now."

"I'm on day two."

"Fun start."

"More exciting than where I come from."

"You here on holidays?"

"No, I moved here. Got sick of Norway."

"You like it?"

"A lot."

"It's a pretty amazing place."

"It is so far."

"So, did you come here with your girlfriend?"

"There is no girlfriend. I came alone."

"You're brave. When I moved here I don't know what I would have done without my boyfriend."

"You live with him?"

"Not anymore. We broke up a few years ago. But I have a lot of other stuff now that keeps me going."

"You got a pretty fun job, being a cop."

"I'm actually a CSI. It stands for Crime Scene Investigator."

"What do you do then?"

"It's our job to analyse and process the evidence. It's more of a sciencey thing."

"Cool. Do you get to blow stuff up?"

"Not really."

"Unlucky."

"You like blowing stuff up?"

"When I was a kid I used to make bombs. Little bombs."

"Like threat to the national security system bombs?"

"No, more like science fair winning bombs." he laughed.

"Geek?" she asked him, grinning.

"Do I look like a geek to you?" he asked, gesturing himself.

"Hmm..." she said, looking him up and down.

"Checking me out?" he asked.

"Maybe a little." she shrugged.

"You like?" he asked her.

"I've seen worse." she winked.

"In the mirror?" he suggested.

"That's not very nice." she said, pouting.

"Sorry. How bout I make up for it by letting you show me a good restraunt in this city?"

"I don't think it would be a good idea to get involved with a witness in an ongoing investigation."

"Ouch. They teach you that at school?"

"I have to use it more often than the Miranda warning."

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense?"

"I'm impressed. How did you know that?"

"I didn't even know that I did. Movies I guess."

"Hey, come take a look at this."

"I should probably go."

"This is where we part ways then."

"Who knows, I might see you again."

"Might you?"

"New York's not as big as you might think."

"Good luck with the case."

"Good luck taking on the big apple."

Greg took one last look at her, and walked away. He found Brooke, still talking to the detective.

"Are you done here?" Greg asked the detective.

"You're the guy who called us right?" the man asked him.

"That's me. Why don't you talk to me for a while?" Greg asked.

"I'm going to need to take both of you down to the station to get official statements. You can talk to us in the car." the detective told them, gesturing the police car.

"Alright then. Let's go Brooke." Greg smiled.

* * *

She was silent the whole way there, but Greg was happy to give a detailed account of what they had seen. He found that he was enjoying himself. He realised he hadn't been this excited the whole seventeen years he'd been in Norway. He gave his statement, and asked if they would tell him what happened. The detective told him that it wasn't within state policy to reveal any information about an ongoing investigation. Greg guessed he'd been taught that. When they let them leave, it was already tomorrow. He realised that he never asked his new friend the CSI what her name was. But it didn't matter really. Now all that mattered was getting Brooke back to the hotel. And solving that crime.

* * *

"Come on Brooke, let's go home." he said to her.

"Home is over a thousand miles away Greg. And right now, that's where I'd like to be." she said.

"Hey, it wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad? I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm still in shock after what we saw."

"You have to admit though, it was a little exciting."

"Exciting? We saw a man get killed."

"It's like something out of a movie."

"But it's not a movie Greg. It's real life. And now that man is dead."

"The cops will catch the girl who did it though, and we helped them to solve the case! Doesn't that make you feel good?"

"Don't you watch the news Greg? The cops won't catch them. They never do."

"That's not true! In Norway, the guy across the road was robbed, and they caught the guy in less than two weeks. It was the next door neighbour, in case you're interested."

"This isn't your small town in Norway Greg. Think about the number of people in New York and all the cities around it? How are they supposed to find one person in all that?"

"This girl I was talking to today, she said that New York isn't as big as you might think."

"Oh yes, the girl. That cop you were flirting with minutes after seeing a man get killed. You were FLIRTING."

"She's a CSI actually. It stands for Crime..."

"GREG! Do you not feel anything?"

"For her? Sure, she was hot. Funny too, and..."

"Not about her! About what we saw? A man had his life taken. He could have children, a wife. He could have dreams and potential Greg. And now he can never achieve them. Does that not have any affect on you?"

"Well sure, it does but..."

"Really Greg? Cos I don't think you're feeling anything at all. You know why? Because all you think about is yourself. And every hot blonde in a ten mile vicinity."

"That..."

"You may be the best thing that ever happened to your small town in Norway, but there are a lot of people in New York Greg. And all of them matter just as much as you do. You're no more important than them, no more deserving to live your dream. That man we just saw get killed, he had dreams too. But he's gone now, dead. And we saw it happen, and we hid and did nothing. NOTHING."

"If we'd came out, she would have killed all three of us. We're no use to him dead. Come on Brooke, I care. I want to catch this guy."

"You don't want to catch him to bring justice. You want to catch him for the glory. For the mystery and the challenge. This isn't a movie. Your life isn't a movie. Welcome to reality Greg. You need to get your head out of the clouds and see that you can't just run away from home one day and then that's it, your life is some stupid film when you're a hero and everyone loves you and all the girls want to date you and you can't do anything your head out of the clouds Greg. We can't all be like you. I worked my ass off to get here, scraped by on bread rolls and soup, worked three jobs, saved every penny I saw on the side of the road, sacraficed everything to get here. You have all the money you'll ever need, so your life can be anything you've ever wanted it to be. I get that, that's cool. But everything being so easy for you doesn't give you a right to see everything that happens as your chance to kick start this movie style life you assumed you'd have the second you got to New York. Hey, let's follow that girl. Who does that? You see what you've gotten us into?"

"Then why did you follow me? You could have just stayed behind, or asked me to stop and I would."

"Because you drag me in. You make everything seem so easy that for a second I think it could be. You can just decide that you want to go to New York, and ext thing you know it you'll be there. You attract chaos, an excitement, and its attractive. It's fun. I got sucked in, because when I was with you it was like I was living a movie lifestyle. But things happen Greg. Bad things. And that's when you see the cold reality. This isn't a movie Greg. This is a homicide."

"So you're just going to give up? You're not going to try and fix it?"

"God Greg do you ever stop? You're like a puppy, your endless energy and enthusiasm and relentlessness. Can you just leave me alone for one minute?"

"You want me to leave you alone?"

"Yes, I know, hard as that is fro you to believe. There is a person in the world who does not want to spend every possible minute with Greg Sanders, who does not believe that he is a perfect human being that we should all worship."

"I..."

"Please, just get it into your head. This is not Greg Sanders the movie."

And then she ran. Greg went after her for a few seconds, but then he stopped. He stood and watched her for a long time. Then he headed back to the hotel. Alone.

* * *

That night when he went out on the balcony, he was alone. Just him and the stars. And as he looked up at them, he realised that Brooke was right. He couldn't just move to New York and everything would be perfect. Because looking up at the stars, he remembered that even stars die. They burn out, and fall. Nothing could ever be perfect. Even the stars, the big shining things that everybody looks at during their happiest reflections, and their darkest times. Greg gripped the banister. He looked out. The sky was almost black, way up high. Above the street lights and the fog and the constant rumble of the city that never sleeps. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. There was only black and the twinkle on the stars. His Nana Olaf used to tell him a story about an old Norweigan man, Lytte. Lytte came to help anybody whenever they had a problem, whenever they needed a friend. But people would ask them where he went in between. For as soon as they were okay again, he would leave. Leave to go help somebody else. So he decided to hang lights up in the sky. So he did. He put all the stars up, decorating the whole sky. And all of a sudden, children stopped crying and people realised that everything was alright. Because they realised that there was always someone looking out for them. And in daytime, when the sun comes out, the stars weren't needed anymore, so Lytte would turn them off. But they were always there. And Lytte would not be there unless you needed him. When all was bright and happy in your life, he would be nowhere to be seen. Only when the darkness set in and you were alone and broken, that's when he would come out. Because he'd been there all along. Greg sunk down to the concrete floor, and leaned his head against the balcony. Where was Lytte now?

"Hey." he heard, and he looked up. It was not Lytte. Just a normal guy standing out on the balcony above him.

"Hi." he said back.

"You looking at the stars too?" the man asked him, and Greg noticed a southern accent.

"Yeah. It relaxes me."

"Me too."

"Who are you?"

"Nicholas. I'm here on holiday."

"Greg. I'm here from Norway."

"Cool. Who was that girl you were out here with yesterday?"

"You saw us?"

"Yeah."

"That was Brooke. She's my friend."

"Trouble?"

"How did you know?"

"You are out here looking at the stars at four o clock in the morning."

"True. Yeah. She says that I only worry about myself. And that I think life is like a movie, but I have to get back down to earth."

"Sometimes earth isn't the best place to be. If you can be somewhere better, you should."

"But my life can't be perfect. Trying to make all the negative things seem positive probably isn't the best way to deal with them."

"You're an optimist, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well hey, nothing can be perfect. You just have to take it one day at a time."

"Well when you spend the last seventeen years of your life waiting for your life to start, it's hard to sit back and go with the flow."

"But sometimes it works. And even if you don't get perfect, you might get pretty close."

"Not even the stars are perfect. They all burn out and fall and stuff." Greg told him.

"That's a song you know." the man replied.

"It is?" Greg asked.

"Kinda. I won't give up, by Jason Mraz." the guy said.

"I haven't heard of it." Greg shrugged.

The man left for a minute, into his room. He returned and threw something down to Greg.

"Here, catch." the guy said.

"Thank you." Greg said, catching it.

"Listen to it. It should help you out with your friend." he told him.

"I will." he said. It was a Jason Mraz CD.

"Good luck Greg." the guy called as he went inside.

Greg popped the CD into the CD player in his room. He checked the back of the box. Number 3.

_When I look into your eyes_

_It's like watching the night sky_

_Or a beautiful sunrise_

_Well, there's so much they hold_

_And just like them old stars_

_I see that you've come so far_

_To be right where you are_

_How old is your soul?_

_Well, I won't give up on us_

_Even if the skies get rough_

_I'm giving you all my love_

_I'm still looking up_

_And when you're needing your space_

_To do some navigating_

_I'll be here patiently waiting_

_To see what you find_

_'Cause even the stars they burn_

_Some even fall to the earth_

_We've got a lot to learn_

_God knows we're worth it_

_No, I won't give up_

_I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily_

_I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make_

_Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use_

_The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake_

_And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend_

_For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn_

_We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in_

_I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not, and who I am_

_I won't give up on us_

_Even if the skies get rough_

_I'm giving you all my love_

_I'm still looking up, still looking up._

_Well, I won't give up on us (no I'm not giving up)_

_God knows I'm tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)_

_We've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)_

_God knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)_

_I won't give up on us_

_Even if the skies get rough_

_I'm giving you all my love_

_I'm still looking up_

That guy was right. This song was perfect. Even the stars they burn, some even fall to the earth. And he realised that it was right too. He shouldn't give up on Brooke. He had a lot to learn, they both did. And New York City was the perfect place for them to learn them. But it would be a lot easier to learn them together. And in the end, she was worth it. It was five am. So he went to bed. But he knew one thing.

He wouldn't give up.

**Thanks for reading! Leave me a review?**


	6. Closer To Perfect

**Okay, this is a filler chapter. It's probably going to be very boring, it's just some randomness and a few conversations between Greg and Brooke. Next chapter is going to be really action packed though, so please bear with me. Also, I promise soon I will start to introduce some more people into this story other than just Greg and Brooke. Anyway please leave me a review cos I could do with a little motivation. Enjoy!**

When Greg woke up the next morning, he was ready. He was ready to start the rest of his life. His real life, in the real world. And he knew that he couldn't have everything perfect all the time, but he could still strive to be happy. And in New York, with Brooke, he had never been any closer to perfect.

Greg showered quickly. He needed to look good, because no great story ever started with sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He put on a blue shirt that Brooke had chosen for him, a pair of jeans that Brooke had said were just the right amount of tightness. He checked his sandy blonde hair in the mirror. He was bored of it. What to do? He grabbed the hair gel he had bought yesterday, put some on his fingers and ran it through his hair. He liked that. He liked that a lot. Taking a deep breath, Greg looked in the mirror one last time. That would do. He opened his door a fraction and leaned out, knocking on Brookes door. He stayed in that position, ready to retreat back into his room if she started throwing stuff at him.

He knocked again.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

And then there was no answer. But that was okay, he had been expecting that. So he went back into his room, and out to the balcony. Then, very carefully he climbed onto Brookes balcony. He pushed open the glass doors, and through the curtains.

She was on her bed, reading The New York Times.

"Greg..."

"Just give me a chance. Listen to this song. You won't regret it."

He threw the C.D. box at her. She looked at it for a second.

"Track four."

And then he left, out the window again. And he waited. He waited out on his balcony, and he stared up at the sky. He couldn't see the stars, but he knew they were there. Eventually Brooke came out too. She stood on her balcony, beside him. They were silent for a minute. Finally, Brooke spoke.

"You're worth it too."

Greg grinned, and pulled her into a tight hug. She giggled, and hugged him back.

"I like your hair by the way."

"Thank you, I just bought this hair gel."

"Good idea, it looks good on you."

"Why thank you. I like it too."

"I got a call last night, that studio apartment's mine if I want it."

"Wow, that's amazing!"

"Anything back from your guys?"

"I might call them now and ask."

He came back ten minutes later.

"Bad news. They lost my offer form, so they gave the apartment to another guy."

"Aw no, that's too bad."

"But..."

"But?"

"They had another apartment in the same complex so to say sorry they said I can have it for the same price I was gonna pay for the other one, no competition."

"That's great! What apartment?"

"Just a little one they like to call the PENTHOUSE!"

"You're going to be living in a penthouse?"

"Yeah baby!"

"That's so amazing! We need to go see this place, like, right now."

"Good plan. And get some breakfast on the way, I'm starving."

"You're always starving."

"I have a healthy appetite."

"Greg, you live on junk food."

"I didn't say it was healthy food I had an appetite for."

"You're pathetic. Come on."

So they went out. Greg loved his apartment, and immanently began planning the parties he would have there. It was decorated already, and he could have all the furnishings for an extra two thousand dollars. Greg decided it was worth it, so he paid. Next they went to Brookes apartment. It was an apartment on the top floor of a three story building. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, two bathrooms, a sitting room. It was a blank canvas, no paint on the walls, no furniture except cupboards and a table in the kitchen, and a double bed in one of the rooms.

"Shopping trip?" Greg asked her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon painting her apartment and getting it ready. Greg made sure that Brooke ended up wearing most of the paint, on her clothes, on her arms and legs, and in her hair. Brooke also managed to get several colorful hand prints on Greg. They played music while they painted, and Brooke told Greg how she pictured the place looking when they were done.

They headed back to the hotel afterwards, stopping to pick up a takeaway pizza which they ate on Greg's bed while watching some romantic comedy that Brooke had picked out. Brooke cried a little, but Greg only laughed and threw popcorn at the television.

"The problem with these films" he said afterwards "is that they're all the same."

"But Lilly was so unpopular and she wore those glasses and Brad was going out with Kelley who was the head cheerleader..."

"It was way too predictable! Couldn't you tell right from the beginning what was going to happen?"

"No?"

"Liar!"

"It's the same as all the romantic comedies ever made."

"How many have you watched?"

"Way too many."

"Why do you watch them?"

"Normally with my girlfriends."

"Just how many girlfriends have you had?"

"Oh no, I don't want to start this conversation."

"Come onnnn"

"No way."

"Greggie..."

"Not gonna happen."

"Please?"

"Okay well I had my first girlfriend when I was in nursery. Anna. I spent three days looking at all the girls to find the best one. That relationship lasted a whole year. When I started school I went out with Olina, we used to share our juice boxes and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then it was Aaliyah. I couldn't pronounce that though, I was seven, so I just called her Ally. When we broke up I really liked Hannah, but she was going out with Jakob, so I went out with Kamilla to make her jealous. It worked, so I wet out with Hannah for a while after. Then I moved to middle school and my first girlfriend was Gunnhild."

"Unfortunate name."

"It's Norway. Anyway, she used to get mad because I always beat her at softball so I went out with Camilla instead. She was pretty cute, I liked her. But then her family moved to Australia. I actually pined over her for nearly four months. But then this girl Emilee asked me to go with her to this Sadie Hopkins dance thing.."

"Hawkins."

"Whatever, Miss know it all. Anyway, I did and we went out for a while after that. And then Kirsten and Kristina, I always forget what order they were in. And then Miranda for three weeks over the summer she was an exchange student. I went out with Elisa then for almost the whole last year of middle school."

"Twelve girlfriends so far. You're fourteen?"

"Yep. Then in high school, I discovered an amazing thing."

"What?"

"Cheerleaders."

"You went out with a cheerleader?"

"I went out with the whole squad."

"How did you manage that?"

"I'm not sure, they're all like BFFs so they like to do what the others do. I went out with three then the other nine all had to go out with me too. I wasn't complaining though. And then I had a few girlfriends over the summers too. Emma, Marianne, Sofie, Maya, Linneah, and Elin. So that's what, thirty?"

"And you're how old?"

"Nineteen."

"Woah."

"Just say it."

"Say what?"

"I don't know... but people generally don't like me, because of the girlfriend thing."

"People?"

"Guys mainly. And adults."

"Did you have any guy friends?"

"Not really."

"Me neither. I had two best friends, Marissa and Leona. But then, I don't know, a few years ago they kind of changed. When we started going out to parties and stuff they kinda got a bit too into it. They started smoking, and spending each night with a different guy. And then we kind of drifted. I made other frinds like, but it was never the same. So yeah, I started saving to move out here. And when I graduated high school, I worked for the whole summer. And here I am."

"Did you have many boyfriends?"

"Not really."

"Why not? You're pretty amazing."

"Shut up Greg."

"Hey!"

"Ow!"

"You started it."

"We're out of popcorn."

"I'll go across the road to get more?"

"That place shuts at midnight. And its... eleven fifty five now."

"Then I guess I'll run."

I'll go get another movie from my room."

"Good plan. A better one this time?"

"Do you have a key I could use?"

"Then how do I get back in?"

"You should have two room keys Greg."

"Oh yeah."

"Where is your second one?"

"I think it's in the jeans I was wearing yesterday."

"Where are they?"

"Erm..."

"Greg... You did clean your room like I told you to didn't you?"

"They're under the bed."

"Greg Sanders!"

She looked under the bed, there was a lot of clothes under there. She pulled out his jeans and checked the pockets.

"Nothing."

"Where could I have dropped it?"

"A key wouldn't just fall out."

"Unless I was bending down."

"The crime scene."

"We were bending behind those bins. Damnit."

"You should probably go get that."

"I'll go in the morning, it's late."

"And you now have less than two minutes to get more popcorn."

"I better go then."

"In your pajama shorts?"

"This is New York. They've seen it all before."

"Good luck."

"Watch me out the window."

So she did. He ran in just as the shopkeeper was about to leave, bought the popcorn and waved triumphantly at Brooke, and ran back into the hotel. Luckily there was no queue for the one microwave at this time of night, so he was up soon.

"So what are we watching?"

So they watched another film, and eventually fell asleep on Greg's bed. They planned to go back and get Greg's key the next morning. They had no idea what they were about to be sucked into.

**Let me know if you want more!**


	7. Never Be The Same

**Haven't updated in a while, it's been crazy. But I'm off for the summer now, so I can update again. Thanks as always the amazing LilBadger101, you rock!**

"It's not here." she said.

But Greg wasn't listening. He was too busy watching the rapidly approaching black van. Brooke followed his gaze and gasped.

"That doesn't look like the sort of van friendly people would own." she whispered.

"Quick!" Gerg yelled, pulling her down behind the bins.

"Deja vu." he remarked, and she stiffled a giggle as they heard the van pull up and the soor open. Then there were footsteps.

"These footprints weren't here yesterday." A mans voice said.

"Looks like a guy and a girl. Fresh." another man added.

"Let's follow them." the first guy replied.

Greg and Brooke looked at each other, their eyes widening. This was bad.

They held their breath but within a few seconds, they heard breathing just beside them.

"You two again?" one of the men laughed.

They looked up.

"Scared you." the other added.

They breathed mutual sighs of relief. It was just the CSIs.

"That's a pretty menacing van." Greg told the two guys.

"The Denali? Standard issue, we all have them."

"Freaked us out." Brooke shivered.

"What are you two doing back here?"

"Lost my keycard here last night." Greg explained.

"Did you find it?"

"Unfortunately not."

"That sucks."

"How's the case?" Greg asked them.

"Not very good. Came back here to see if we'd missed anything but I doubt we're gonna get anywhere."

"We should probably be going. Come on Greg." Brooke cut them off.

"Alright. Bye. Goodluck." Greg yelled ad she dragged him away.

"Told you." she whispered to him.

It was later that night, when Greg and Brooke had done some more shopping and decorating and were at a pizza place they'd discovered when Brooke brought it up again.

"Told you they wouldn't solve it."

"It's been less than twenty four hours. Give them time."

"They aren't going to solve it."

"Wait and see."

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"I feel like going out."

"Except for the fact that we know nobody in this city."

"Yeah, clubs are no fun with just two people."

"We need to make more friends."

"I know how."

Greg pointed towards a sign outside the posh hotel they were passing. MASKED BALL FOR MEMBERS OF NEW YORK CHORAL SOCIETY TONIGHT 8PM.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I've always wanted to go to a masked ball."

"Do you know who the New York Choral Society are? Only one of the most prestigious groups in this whole..."

"They don't sound like a barrel of laughs. We'll have to fix that."

"We're not in the choral society Greg!"

"We can sort that out."

"I didn't exactly bring any ball clothes. Or masks. And The ball starts at eight. It's..." she checked her watch "seven twenty two."

"Then we don't have much time. Come on." He took her by the hand and dragged her down the busy new york street, dodging several angry people moving in different directions and several yellow taxis. She squealed as he tugged her around corners and into crowded lanes. Finally, he pulled her into a small, quiet boutique. An old Italian woman sat behind the desk, surrounded by rackfulls of dresses.

"Questa ragazza ha bisogno di un abito da ballo. Tornerò per lei in 20 minuti." He pressed a wad of cash into her hand. "Tenga il resto." Then, he was gone,

He was back in nineteen minutes, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. By then, Brooke was wearing a long coral dress, gathered at the top with a floaty skirt. He lifted her up onto the counter and slipped a pair of silver heels onto her feet.

"Greg..." she began, but he grabbed her by the hand and quickly pulled her back out onto the street. He yelled "Grazie!" as the door slammed behind them. It was seven forty three by then. Brooke began to protest, but Greg whirled her into an alleyway so quickly that she had the breath knocked out of her. He led her through a door into a beauty salon, where there were already several people waiting for her.

"Alright Brooke this is Sandra, she's going to be doing your nails, Sasha will do your make-up and Paulo will do your hair. Be back for you in... twelve minutes."

And he was gone again. Brooke sighed, and then she was whisked away by the three beauticians.

When he returned, it was seven fifty five.

"Brooke, you look beautiful." he told her. "You guys did a great job." he told the others. Then, he offered her one of the two masks he was holding, the one in coral to match her dress. They left again. They were nearly back at the hotel when Brooke realised something.

"Greg! You're still in your jeans."

"Oh damn." he cursed. "Detour."

He pulled her quickly into a department store. They ran along together for a while, then she lost him behind a rack of ties.

"Greg?" she called out.

"Yes?" he asked, emerging from the checkout desk dressed in a full tuxedo.

"You are unbelievable." she laughed.

"Well you better believe it, we're going to that ball."

He checked his watch, it was seven fifty nine. They were going to make it.

They ran along the main street together, dodging cars, people, bikes and several buses. They slipped their masks on as they ran into the foyer of the hotel.

"Mr and Mrs Fradeline." Greg told the lady at the table. She nodded at them and opened the door. Greg checked his watch. One minute past eight.

"How did you do it?" Brooke asked him.

"Easy. Saw that dress place befor when we were walking, dropped you off, found a beauty salon place and booked stuff, got you some shoes, bought some masks, snuck into the hotel, "borrowed" a jacket from the concierge guy, answered the phone loads of times til I got a cancellation for the ball. Then I took their names but didn't tell the lady letting people into the ball. Easy."

"You speak Italian?"

"A little. I had an Italian girlfriend once."

"Course you did. These old dudes don't look like much fun."

"Truth or dare?"

"Sure."

"Okay Brooke, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Dare you to go pour some of this in the punch bowl." Greg produced a bottle of Smirnoff vodka from his trouser pocket.

"Greg!"

"Don't get caught." he told her. She giggled and took the bottle from him. She returned a minute later, laughing hysetrically.

"Doen. Your go. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Dare you to find a way to switch the music, there's a party playlist on my ipod."

"If that guy playing the "fantastic" music on the piano for us has much more of your punch he's gonna be out pretty soon. I'm going for it."

"Much better." she smiled when he came back, rocking out to LMFAO.

"Want to dance?"

"Of course."

They danced and laughed, then danced some more. They both decided to go out and try and find somebody under 25 to be friends with. Brooke went over to the bar and looked around for a few minutes. She couldn't find anybody her age, so she went back to look for Greg. She couldn't have been more than five minutes. But when she returned Greg had some girl pushed up against the wall against the bar, with her tongue stuck down his throat. Brooke was surprised at how much this hurt. Why should it matter to her what Greg did?

She was falling for him. She was falling for Greg Sanders. This was not good. Greg stumbled over to her about half an hour later, when the girl had been escorted to the dancefloor by her elderly parents who turned out to be the presidents of the society.

"Broooooooooke..." he slurred, taking her hands and twirling her around.

"Oh Gregory." she sighed, as he stopped and staggered around dizzily.

"Brookie." he chuckled.

"Greggie. Time to get you back to the hotel."

"Alright." he mumbled, allowing her to lead him out.

They got back to the hotel and she helped him up the stairs as he babbled non stop about penguins.

"What's amazing is, the mothers go on that big long trip to get food and all the fathers stay together to mind the eggs. And when it gets really cold they all huddle in together and take turns going in the middle and..."

Brooke stiffled a laugh as she led him down the hall, pulling him away when he decided to try and use his credit card to open the door to somebody elses room.

"Here you go Greg." she smiled, opening the door to his room.

He laughed and pulled her in with him.

"Greg, it's late, you need to go to bed."

"Still trying to get me into bed Brooke?"

He pushed her up against the closet and kissed her.

Once she got over the initial shock, Brooke found herself enjoying it. She could taste vodka and cherry menthol chewing gum as he deepended the kiss. This was Greg. And he was very drunk. This was not a good idea. She broke away and he moaned at the loss of contact.

"Come backkkk..." he whimpered.

Brooke looked into his eyes as he trapped her againt the closet with one arm on either side of her. Puppy dog eyes. It would take a lot more then that to convince her. She ducked under his arms and freed herself. But before she even had time to catch her breath he had pulled her down onto the bed with him. She opened her mouth to protest but he kissed her again, and she found herself melting beneth his touch. Her hands fell loosely around his neck and he rolled over onto her, never breaking contact.

No. This was not happening. Not even for Greg Sanders.

"Greg, I gotta go."

"No you don't. Stay."

"No Greg. Goodnight."

When Greg woke up the nest morning with a pounding headache, still wearing his tuxedo the last thing he would remember would be playing truth or dare with Brooke. The last thing she would remember is the taste of his lips and the regret she felt when she left him on the bed, looking confused, hurt and very drunk. It was the firrst time she had seen him completely lost like that. His confidence and natural zest with life was gone, and he was just a very drunk, confused guy. He would appear at her door the next morning just out of the shower with a towel wrapped arund his waist, asking what happened. She would tell him that he got drunk and they went home. She had delivered him to his room. She would leave out the part about the girl at the ball, and what had happened between them. Then, he would complain about his headache and they would go out to get coffee and aspirin. Their ease with conversation would return, and soon they would appear to be back to normal. But for Brooke, it would never be quite the same again. She wouldn't be able to hear his voice without remembering him whispering her name. She wouldn't be able to look into his eyes without remembering how they had begged her to stay. She wouldn't be able to see his face without remembering the taste of him. She wouldn't be able to think of him without wondering what might have been.

And what might never be again. Because earlier in the day, Greg and Brooke had gotten involved in something they shouldn't have. It was something dangerous, something bigger than anything they were used to back at home. And it was coming.


	8. What Might Have Been

**Oh wow. I really haven't updated in far too long, due to new found obsessions with Les Miserables and Glee. But I'm back now, and back to stay and this story is finally getting to the good bit. There's a lot in this chapter, even though it's pretty short. Next chapter something big is going to happen, but for now enjoy something a bit of fun. Thanks as always to Lil Badger 101 for all your support, and to those new people who favourited and followed. Let me know what you think or give me any ideas if you have them.**

"It's not here." she said.

But Greg wasn't listening. He was too busy watching the rapidly approaching black van. Brooke followed his gaze and gasped.

"That doesn't look like the sort of van friendly people would own." she whispered.

"Quick!" Greg yelled, pulling her down behind the bins.

"Deja vu." he remarked, and she stiffled a giggle as they heard the van pull up and the door open. Then there were footsteps.

"These footprints weren't here yesterday." A mans voice said.

"Looks like a guy and a girl. Fresh." another man added.

"Let's follow them." the first guy replied.

Greg and Brooke looked at each other, their eyes widening. This was bad.

They held their breath but within a few seconds, they heard breathing just beside them.

"You two again?" one of the men laughed.

They looked up.

"Scared you." the other added.

They breathed mutual sighs of relief. It was just the CSIs.

"That's a pretty menacing van." Greg told the two guys.

"The Denali? Standard issue, we all have them."

"Freaked us out." Brooke shivered.

"What are you two doing back here?"

"Lost my keycard here last night." Greg explained.

"Did you find it?"

"Unfortunately not."

"That sucks."

"How's the case?" Greg asked them.

"Not very good. Came back here to see if we'd missed anything but I doubt we're gonna get anywhere."

"We should probably be going. Come on Greg." Brooke cut them off.

"Alright. Bye. Good luck." Greg yelled ad she dragged him away.

"Told you." she whispered to him.

It was later that night, when Greg and Brooke had done some more shopping and decorating and were at a pizza place they'd discovered when Brooke brought it up again.

"Told you they wouldn't solve it."

"It's been less than twenty four hours. Give them time."

"They aren't going to solve it."

"Wait and see."

"What do you want to do tonight?" she asked him, changing the subject.

"I feel like going out." Greg told her.

"Except for the fact that we know nobody in this city." she reminded him.

"Yeah, clubs are no fun with just two people." he agreed.

"We need to make more friends."

"I know how."

Greg pointed towards a sign outside the posh hotel they were passing. MASKED BALL FOR MEMBERS OF NEW YORK CHORAL SOCIETY TONIGHT 8PM.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I've always wanted to go to a masked ball."

"Do you know who the New York Choral Society are? Only one of the most prestigious groups in this whole..."

"They don't sound like a barrel of laughs. We'll have to fix that."

"We're not in the choral society Greg!"

"We can sort that out."

"I didn't exactly bring any ball clothes. Or masks. And The ball starts at eight. It's..." she checked her watch "seven twenty two."

"Then we don't have much time. Come on." He took her by the hand and dragged her down the busy New York street, dodging several angry people moving in different directions and several yellow taxis. She squealed as he tugged her around corners and into crowded lanes. Finally, he pulled her into a small, quiet boutique. An old Italian woman sat behind the desk, surrounded by rackfulls of dresses.

"Questa ragazza ha bisogno di un abito da ballo. Tornerò per lei in 20 minuti." He pressed a wad of cash into her hand. "Tenga il resto." Then, he was gone,

He was back in nineteen minutes, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt. By then, Brooke was wearing a long coral dress, gathered at the top with a floaty skirt. He lifted her up onto the counter and slipped a pair of silver heels onto her feet.

"Greg..." she began, but he grabbed her by the hand and quickly pulled her back out onto the street. He yelled "Grazie!" as the door slammed behind them. It was seven forty three by then. Brooke began to protest, but Greg whirled her into an alleyway so quickly that she had the breath knocked out of her. He led her through a door into a beauty salon, where there were already several people waiting for her.

"Alright Brooke this is Sandra, she's going to be doing your nails, Sasha will do your make-up and Paulo will do your hair. Be back for you in... twelve minutes."

And he was gone again. Brooke sighed, and then she was whisked away by the three beauticians.

When he returned, it was seven fifty five.

"Brooke, you look beautiful." he told her. "You guys did a great job." he told the others. Then, he offered her one of the two masks he was holding, the one in coral to match her dress. They left again. They were nearly back at the hotel when Brooke realised something.

"Greg! You're still in your jeans."

"Oh damn." he cursed. "Detour."

He pulled her quickly into a department store. They ran along together for a while, then she lost him behind a rack of ties.

"Greg?" she called out.

"Yes?" he asked, emerging from the checkout desk dressed in a full tuxedo.

"You are unbelievable." she laughed.

"Well you better believe it, we're going to that ball."

He checked his watch, it was seven fifty nine. They were going to make it.

They ran along the main street together, dodging cars, people, bikes and several buses. They slipped their masks on as they ran into the foyer of the hotel.

"Mr and Mrs Fradeline." Greg told the lady at the table. She nodded at them and opened the door. Greg checked his watch. One minute past eight.

"How did you do it?" Brooke asked him.

"Easy. Saw that dress place before when we were walking, dropped you off, found a beauty salon place and booked stuff, got you some shoes, bought some masks, snuck into the hotel, "borrowed" a jacket from the concierge guy, answered the phone loads of times til I got a cancellation for the ball. Then I took their names but didn't tell the lady letting people into the ball. Easy."

"You speak Italian?"

"A little. I had an Italian girlfriend once."

"Course you did. These old dudes don't look like much fun."

"I know how we can make this night more interesting." he smiled. "Dare you to go pour some of this in the punch bowl." Greg produced a flask from his trouser pocket. It had a crest on it, and bore the last name Olaf. She sniffed it, it was vodka.

"Greg!" she giggled.

"Don't get caught." he told her. She giggled and took the bottle from him. She returned a minute later, laughing hysterically.

"Done. Now you. I dare you to find a way to switch the music, I have my ipod in my purse and I noticed speakers by the punch table."

"If that guy playing the "fantastic" music on the piano for us has much more of your spiked punch he's gonna be out pretty soon. I'm going for it."

"Much better." she smiled when he came back, doing some sort of a dance to Ke$ha.

"I'm good at this." he replied, twirling around and finishing with and enthusiastic wave of his hands.

"Don't know how you got anybody to date you dancing like that."

"The ladies dig jazz hands."

"Of course."

They danced for a while, laughing at each other and the posh people around them getting more into the music the more punch they drunk. Greg led a very enthusiastic rendition of the macarena and they followed some old guy as he led them through the cha cha slide. Brooke offered to get them some punch, but Greg shook his head, producing another flask from his pocket, this one with a mountain scenery coupled with pine trees, a bear and the caption Lake Ohan, Norway.

"Why bother with diluted stuff when we have the real deal here?"

"Just how much alcohol do you carry on you at a time?" she asked.

"I only have two flasks tonight." he joked.

"I always thought only old alcoholic men carried vodka in those little flasks."

"Well, I can hardly fit a whole bottle in my pocket."

"I worry about you."

"I swear, I'm not an alcoholic. I have been known to drink a few beers with friends, around a campfire or on one of those construction sites for buildings that nobody needs. I carry vodka around sometimes for situations like this."

"Well, it certainly made tonight better." She found several little cups that had been used to hold some sort of canape, and after quickly wiping them with some napkins Greg poured a little bit of the vodka from his pocket flask into each one. They lifted their honourary shot glasses and downed the first gulp.

Brooke breathed in heavily. That stuff was pretty strong. She had never really drunk before, besides glasses of wine with her parents and that one time she had ordered a Cider believing it was sparkling apple juice. But Greg was whooping and spinning her round and she could already feel herself start to loosen as the alcohol flowed through her veins. She allowed Greg to pour her another shot, but declined the third and fourth, choosing instead to observe Greg stumbling slightly through party rock anthem.

The Rascal Flatts "Bless the Broken Road" came on, and Brooke watched Greg's intial confusion at the first slow notes of the song. He stopped his jazz hands, realising they didn't go with the song and reached a hand out to Brooke instead.

"May I have this dance?" he asked her.

"I suppose you may." she giggled.

They danced and laughed, then danced some more. They both decided to go out and try and find somebody under 25 to be friends with. Brooke went over to the bar and looked around for a few minutes. She couldn't find anybody her age, so she went back to look for Greg. She couldn't have been more than five minutes. But when she returned Greg was nowhere to be seen. She searched the room, looking for his hair amongst the many shades of greys and whites. She saw her first. She was wearing a purple dress, and had long blonde hair down to her waist. Tangled in her platimum locks was short, sandy coloured, styled to perfection hair. Hair she knew all too well. Greg had her pushed up against the wall, her tongue stuck down his throat. Her hands were tangled in his hair and their eyes were closed, which was probably a good thing so that neither of them could see the tears that pricked up in her eyes.

Brooke shook her head furiously to clear them. She was being silly. He was just her friend, she knew he had a lot of girls, why should it matter to her?

She was falling for him. She was falling for Greg Sanders. This was not good.

She went to sit down again by the bar, and tried to shed light on her situation. She wasn't really falling for Greg Sanders. She couldn't be.

She watched him stumble after the girl who was being escorted back to the dancefloor by her elderly parents who turned out to be the presidents of the society.

She jumped and turned around as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She followed the hand as it led to an arm which led to a face. A face that was not Greg Sanders. A man, probably mid thirties. And he looked like he'd been drinking a lot more than punch. She could smell whickey and cigarettes on his breath as he told the barman that he next drink was on him and handed over a ten dollar bill.

"No thank you, I'm okay." she told him, shrugging off his hand.

"Come on pretty girl, you can't be having much fun here with these old people." the man drawled.

"I.. I have to go..." she began, getting up. But then he was pushing her against a pillar, and bringing his face up so close to hers that she could feel his stubble on her face.

"Not so fast." he whispered.

"No... please..." she whimpered.

"I'm not good enough for you?" the man asked angrily.

"Nowehere near." Brooke and the man both turned around at the voice. Greg. Looking a little worse for wear, with his shirt untucked and his tie half undone and hanging slightly to the left.

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked, moving away from Brooke and staggering towards Greg.

"I could say the same to you." Greg told him. And then, in the time it took for Brooke to blink, Greg's fist was colliding with the man's face and he was doubling over and moaning.

And then he was stumbling off, holding his now bleeding nose and swearing loudly at both of them.

"Asshole." Greg said to Brooke.

"Thank you." she smiled at him.

"S'nothing." he smiled back.

"Madam, will you be wanting that drink?" the barman interrupted them both, holding the ten dollars the man had left behind.

Brooke started to say no, but Greg cut her off.

"Yes, she will." he turned to Brooke "you deserve it after that."

Brooke allowed Greg to pull her back onto the dancefloor and teach her some sped up version of the waltz he had learned in elementary school. She drunk about two sips of her drink before passing it to Greg who downed the rest of it. By now, she could hear the way his words were slurred and the things he was saying were beginning to lack sense and relevance.

"Broooooooooke..." he slurred, taking her hands and twirling her around.

"Oh Gregory." she sighed, as he stopped and staggered around dizzily.

"Brookie." he chuckled.

"Greggie. Time to get you back to the hotel."

"Alright." he mumbled, allowing her to lead him out.

They got back to the hotel and she helped him up the stairs as he babbled non stop about non sensical things.

"What's amazing about penguins is, the mothers go on that big long trip to get food and all the fathers stay together to mind the eggs. And when it gets really cold they all huddle in together and take turns going in the middle and..."

Brooke stiffled a laugh as she led him down the hall, pulling him away when he decided to try and use his credit card to open the door to somebody elses room.

"Here you go Greg." she smiled, opening the door to his room.

He laughed and pulled her in with him.

"Greg, it's late, you need to go to bed." she told him.

"Still trying to get me into bed Brooke?" he asked her, his voice suddenly lower, and the space between them suddenly feeling a lot smaller.

He closed the gap, pushing her up against the closet and kissing her.

Once she got over the initial shock, Brooke felt everything slip away around her, because all there was was Greg. He tasted like vodka and cherry menthol chewing gum and something she couldn't name but was Greg. Definately Greg. This was Greg. And he was very drunk. This was not a good idea. She broke away and he moaned at the loss of contact.

"Come backkkk..." he whimpered.

Brooke looked into his eyes as he trapped her against the closet with one arm on either side of her. Puppy dog eyes. It would take a lot more then that to convince her. She ducked under his arms and freed herself. But before she even had time to catch her breath he had pulled her down onto the bed with him. She opened her mouth to protest but he kissed her again, and she found herself melting beneath his touch. Her hands fell loosely around his neck and he rolled over onto her, never breaking contact.

No. This was not happening. Not even for Greg Sanders.

"Greg, I gotta go."

"No you don't. Stay."

"No Greg. Goodnight."

* * *

When Greg woke up the nest morning with a pounding headache, still wearing his tuxedo the last thing he would remember would be playing truth or dare with Brooke. The last thing she would remember is the taste of his lips and the regret she felt when she left him on the bed, looking confused, hurt and very drunk. It was the first time she had seen him completely lost like that. His confidence and natural zest with life was gone, and he was just a very drunk, confused guy. He would appear at her door the next morning just out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, asking what happened. She would tell him that he got drunk and they went home. She had delivered him to his room. She would leave out the part about the girl at the ball, and the part about her. Then, he would complain about his headache and they would go out to get coffee and aspirin. Their ease with conversation would return, and soon they would appear to be back to normal. But for Brooke, it would never be quite the same again. She wouldn't be able to look at him without wondering what could have been.

And what might never be again. Because earlier in the day, Greg and Brooke had gotten involved in something they shouldn't have. It was something dangerous, something bigger than anything they were used to back at home. And it was coming.

**"Questa ragazza ha bisogno di un abito da ballo. Tornerò per lei in 20 minuti." Is she needs a ballgown. I'll be back in 20 minutes and "Tenga il resto." is keep the change. At least according to Google translate. Please feel free to correct my Italian. Also I made that lake in Norway up. Reviews are my kryptonite.**


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